Madras.

There are many reasons why one misses a city. Maybe one has grown up there, been born and brought up in that particular city. Or one has some significant memories and emotions attached to it. It can be a metropolis, a Tier-II town or a village – when it comes to missing a place, it doesn’t matter what it looks like, what facilities it offers or how populated/polluted it is. Much is the case with it. I still cannot understand why I miss Chennai at times. However, there is a big paradox here. When I am actually in there, I tend to dislike it, mainly due to the language I cannot understand or speak, and the auto drivers, who are in a league of their own. But this does not take away from the fact that I miss Chennai and have incredibly beautiful memories from that place.

When I went back this time for an assignment, I was happy to return to the place. I stayed in a hotel on Wallajah Road in Triplicane – walking distance from my college’s old campus. One evening, I took a walk down memory lane and rewinded to the ten months that comprise some of the best times of my life until now.

I walked down the road to the Marina, the brown stretch of sand that is probably the city’s biggest dump-hole. When I explained it like that to Ajai, he flipped out, called me names. He even spilled water on me from a glass while we were lunching in a restaurant called Mathsya. But then I will always condone such outbursts of childish behaviour; they merely indicate a person defending something he/she is terribly proud of and love. At the Marina, one needs to walk at least a kilometre over burning sand to reach the cool waters of the ocean. The sand is littered with plastic bottles, packets of chips, used paper plates, foil paper and god knows what. One can even find a stray slipper here and there. The stretch is also flanked by numerous stalls and shops that sell everything from eatables to utensils, clothes and slippers to jewellery and handbags, not to forget shops that ‘writ your two names on one rice’.

Also, the numerous life-size cutouts of Tamil and Hindi movie actors and actresses, waiting to get their pictures clicked with you! And then there are the Rajni masks.

Spending time near the beach was something I was a regular at while in Chennai. I remember walking to the end where the huge, black rocks are, clambering over them, trying not to slip over the slippery surface, and then finding a nice spot to sit and observe the sea, letting the waves wash over me and the salt-water spray dirty the lenses of my spectacles. I have sat there for hours at stretch, with nothing to do – just gazing out into the greenish-gray waters of the Bay of Bengal.

Then there is Ellis Road, the place the old ACJ campus is located.

Tiffin Ready, the shabby, modest eatery where we had breakfast everyday, has now been renamed Grand Hotel. There is nothing grand about it though, it is as dirty as it used to be, if not dirtier. The ‘anna’ at the front of the shop, who used to dextrously pour steaming glasses of kaapi and quickly make appams over the huge gas-stove, was still there in his usual spot. ‘City Cool Bar’, the tiny shop in the complex beside our college, was closed. It was a favourite haunt for lemon tea, those square slabs of chocolate and vanilla cakes, coconut biscuits, kaapi and cigarette during breaks in college.

The stall right opposite it, the phone booth where I used to recharge my mobile, was shut as well. I wanted to see if the same ‘anna’ was there, the one who used to walk with the help of crutches and wore a huge golden ring, studded with diamonds, on one of the fingers of his left hand.

Then I took the subway and made my way across the road. Vasantha Bhavan is there, looking the same albeit slightly cleaner and more posh. Chandira’s beside it has been pulled down. There’s a Saravana Bhavan in its spot now. Chandira’s was the restaurant we would hang out at when we had a little more money to splurge on food, Vasantha was certified economy. Then the samosa-wale bhaiya, the one from Mathura, still has his shop there, making delicious samosas, jalebis, gulabjamuns, milk-cakes, lassi, etc. For a long time in college, when I was sick of the staple fare of rice and sambar, my lunch everyday was a plate of samosas and a glass of awesome lassi.

Just walking down that neighbourhood brought a tear to my eye. Chennai, was, and will always be special to me.

Chennai is where I made awesome friends, those who will stay with me through life.

Chennai is where I had my first breakup and started a new relationship.

Chennai is where I discovered new best friends, people with the same tastes as mine, noticeable football and sport. It was the time for college and long lectures and tricks and pranks

Chennai was where I learnt how to live on my own and make everyday count.

Chennai was where I shared in little joys, drank a lot, crashed at friends’ places, enjoyed night-outs, got sloshed in a pub and puked on the road (and my own shoes too).

Chennai was where I enjoyed sitting long into the night underneath the building in Kodambakkam, chatting with Nallu and Deepti and Sumit and Mayu. We would then be joined by more friends and batchmates and we would discuss everything from life to studies to bunking lectures and books and photojournalism, not to forget the Owl of Minerva.

Chennai was where I studied with people from different countries, not to mention my favourite friends from Afghanistan and Bhutan, who were some of the sweetest blokes on the planet.

Chennai was where I stood on the balcony of the ninth floor apartment and gazed at airplanes landing and taking off with Neerazzz, my Nepali friend, from the airport located close by.

Chennai was where I learnt what Tasmac is, how to make your way across a new city without knowing a very complex language.

Chennai was the MRTS and Chepauk fort and Bessie and finding two huge, smelly, rotten carcasses of giant turtles on the beach.

Chennai was walking a lot and waking up to the sound of ‘Suprabhatam’ from the bungalow close by.

Chennai was expensive beauty parlours, who charged double of what it would cost me to get myself waxed in Delhi.

Chennai was about the local buses, where if a man strayed into the women’s section, the hassled-looking ladies would give him an earful.

Chennai was about Nalli stores and shopping for beautiful silk sarees and kanjeevarams for mother and relatives before going home for a holiday.

Chennai will forever be special to me. I may complain about the weather and language and auto-wallahs and dirt on the roads, but I will always love going back to it.

Song of the Day: Map of the Problematique (Muse)

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